


Locked In

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Drugs, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Kidnapping, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: Convicted of several heavy crimes, Alpha Hvitserk Ragnarsson doesn’t intend on staying in prison for long. He finds a kinky little nurse to take home— and better yet, she’s an omega.





	1. I am Hvitserk Ragnarsson

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/b3eb76f52c26a3336722c622f46fb44c/tumblr_pktck2SwDQ1v19l0n_1280.jpg)

Too many years working in the NICU left you with a need for an escape. There were too many parents going back home to an empty nest, too many tears and ugh, you were done! You needed to do something new. So obviously, the choice wasn’t going to step down or even an observation unit. Shit no, you had decided to go to the one place most nurses would not dream of going.

“Morning (Y/N)!” A prisoner gave you a howling whistle from around the large, grey bin. You sigh, strolling on past them with neat and pressed scrubs as grey as the bin they were loading with sets of clothes that smelled all too male. You should have worked at a goddamn female prison.

“Morning boys.”

Six months working at this maximum-security federal prison and you got real used to their bullshit. You refused the oversized puffy jacket at the expense of the wandering eyes of men. Your non-slip sneakers bounce over the cement floors to your wing of the prison in toward the many beds that were littered about for cases demanding your and other nurse’s medical attention.

“He isn’t here yet?” You say, bringing back the heavy box of jiggling fluids. You hand it off to one of the other nurses who only answers with a shake of his head.

“He’s waiting in the room.”

Walking into the room, you can all but feel the tension like tight strings about your neck. The dark haired guard darkens the corner of the room with his hand on the utility belt about his hips. On the sole medical bed in the room, a willowy man sits. His long limbs rest boredly in his lap as he curls over himself, looking over his shoulder as you cheerfully address the guard.

“Good morning Jessen!” You say, far too sweetly for the gloom and doom guard that kept his place. He grunts in response, flicking his head in the direction of the inmate upon the crinkling paper covering of the bed. The young man turns his head up to look at you, his hair matted with dark, irony substance. You move over in a swish of your ponytail, dragging up your stool to him with a metal pull up tray of items. Your computer flashes to light.

“Hi there! I’m (Y/N)!” You say far too cheerfully, shaking your mouse erratically and pulling up the correct tab.

“May I have your number, Mr…” You look over to the clipboard.

“79135-380.” He speaks in an indolent voice, deeper than you were prepared for. You expected a boyish one in place of the deep one that probably have not sounded like an incantation. You tack at the computer, huffing ‘stupid shit’ just so under your breath. He notices it while you turn around, letting the computer load to a new screen.

“You’re the one that was attacked by a Ragnarsson, no?” You ask.

The second the words fall from your lips you know that they are wrong. The boy in front of you bares his teeth, a mouthful of bloody teeth running over his lip. A momentary closer examination tells you although he is bloody, that blood is not his. It’s dry, cracking over his skin like an itchy second skin.

“No.” He purrs, a sound that runs pleasurable vibrations down your spine. “I am Hvitserk Ragnarsson, nurse.”

What had you just said? Your veins seem to run rigid because no blood is returning to supply your heart in that moment. The only Ragnarsson in the facility and you so happened to call him out by name! His sullen eyes snatch yours, threatening you to look away and submit to him. It’s the name of the game. You can’t seem weak. Even being feminine here is a risk. The place reeks of bad-tempered Alphas and meeker Betas. This man smells like he would pop his knot into you, fuck you over the cold floor until your hips broke and leave you there for Doctor Svensen to find.

“Ahem.” The guard sweeps over the room, knocking Hvitserk with his elbow to break his eye lock. Hvitserk nearly snaps his jaws off at the guard and so you reach for the correct tools to stitch his cracked wound dripping blood over his limpid eyes. You’ve done this a hundred times over the past few months. Standing in front of Hvitserk Ragnarsson, son of the great criminal Ragnar though– there was little like it.

“Your heat… is comin’ up.” Hvitserk states. “Your pussy smells sweeter than lollipops.”

You wish you could erase the excitement that brews between your legs, banish the thoughts from your mind as you work on perfecting these stitches as soon as you can. “Watch your mouth.” The guard says. Hvitserk’s lips shut, flicking his eyebrows up to your discomfort. The pain of applying the stitches in do not even phase him. Only after finishing do you inspect the rest of his body. Compared to the man on the receiving end of the Ragnarsson rage, Hvitserk bares nothing more but light bruises.

Unfortunately, his counterpart didn’t quite see the light beyond the tunnel when he went into surgery himself. It happened far too often when Alphas were corralled and forced together in prison in such away. They… went under cabin fever.

“I’ll see him back to remove the them.” You clean your hands, moving away from the Ragnarsson whose eyes never leave the tightness of your scrubs to the back of your ass. You feel him watching you clean yourself up until the guard jerks Hvitserk to stand, shoving him by the black t-shirt plastered with fat, white logo across his back. They shove to the door and you can’t deny yourself the last pleasure of seeing him one last time. As he slips out of the door, your hand is at your chest. This isn’t the first time that an alpha has gotten to you. He smelled it on you like a true breeder. One of those awful men that went feral and chased the innocent public to breed and prosper his line. 

“You doing okay there, (Y/N)?” An older nurse, Dagny, stands in the entrance of the room. You look to your bloodied paper sheet that needs to be cleaned.

“I don’t know.” You say truthfully. “He… he scares me.”

“He should.” Dagny comes closer, her black hair rolled up in an elaborate updo on the back of her head. “That boy is no good.”

Well, you were in a prison. What did you think they were in here for? Stealing the last bit of bread on Christmas morning? Sexual attraction gave no shits what you felt was morally correct. The only thing your cunt cared about was what was under his clothes. Damn, you needed a lay.

“He’s all wound up in his Dad’s business. Dealer, breeder, loan shark, murderer. Boys like that get euthanized around here.” Dagny sits down on the stool, her round body rolling back and forward while you fetch the gloves to clean up the mess left behind by the Ragnarsson. You tuck a piece of hair that you left out of your ponytail behind your pierced ear.

“Sounds like my kinda man Dagny! I think need a lay before I’m out all week in my room.” You laugh. Dagny shares in your amusement, rolling her hand around your back as she rises up.

“Go out to the bar and catch a stud.” She encourages.

“Shit yeah, cirrhosis and hepatomegaly? Count me in!”

You both laugh.

Twenty five to life, they told him.

* * *

His basketball bounces off his hand with a repetitive thump, evading his only company. Harald lurches for him only for Hvitserk to abruptly yank to the other side, shooting his orange ball into the hoop.

Twenty five years to think about his choices, the judge said.

It was something about tying a perfectly good body to a hot water heater to watch him squirm and making him choke on his gun before blasting him to bits. To be honest, he didn’t even really remember the face.

He only remembered the fact that the loan with an incredulous amount of interest was not paid off. So he did the guy a favour. He didn’t jack his wife, na. She had a face like someone took a steaming iron to it. Stealing kids wasn’t his thing either– poor fucks didn’t have a choice in what idiot they were born to. The only one to pay this time was the debtor. It was nothing personal, it was cold hard business. That was exactly what the prosecution played off of.

“Hvit.” His co-defendant, Harald, calls out to him. As he snaps to attention, he realizes a fight burst in the court a few over. Instead of one, two rival gangs duke it out with fist and shank both. Blood squirts over the cement floor underneath mass produced white sneakers. Hvitserk’s lips pull in a wry smile, hand underneath the crotch of his black pants. The older man stops beside him as guards filter out into the court only to receive members of the gangs jumping them too. One such guard catches the door, a mischievous smile against his trim beard. They wait for the guards from the towers to come help their fallen brothers in arms before darting out for the open door. Harald keeps an even jog with him inside the main halls of the prison.

“Let’s go get that bitch you were talking about.”

You’re not exactly sure what happened. At one point, you were speaking to Doctor Svensen and Dagny about your leave starting the next day. No omega wanted to smear their sweet, fertile juices over a place like this. The men were easily roused. The next moment the door was met with a repetitive thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“It’s Jensen.” Doctor Svensen says. On the other side of the door, the guard stood. The doctor stood up from where you were placing limpid viles of insulin away in a tiny refrigerator, humming to the thump of Mad World beating on your bluetooth. Then suddenly, your music is drowned out by the sound of the strain of sneakers sliding across the white tiles.

“You can’t be in here!”

“Dagny!” Doctor Svensen repeats over and over as if it could help. There’s a loud pop that rings your ear drums, causing you to drop viles from your trembling fingertips that have gone all but white. Another pop has your body dropping with limbs like the cheap gelatin offered in the commissary for triple the price. You damn your omega response causing you to go catatonic. Your eardrums ring and instead are filled with the shushing of limp weight being dragged across the floor.

“Ha-ha! There you are.” You recognize the first voice as belonging to the man you saw only a few days prior, swaying to stand in front of you. You can’t look to the side of him– you’re too scared to. “Help him move them, uncle. I have what I want right here!”

Hvitserk drops down to kneel in front of you, jerking you clean off the floor by the neck of your scrubs. Finally surfacing on two feet you realize– quickly so– that those are bodies they drag with gloves into the utility closet. Hvitserk is far busier shoving you to stand. He yanks your scrubs over your ass to grab a palm full of lace and flesh before alternating appreciatively toward your tits.

“I fuckin’ love omegas. Fuckin’ perky fuckable things.” He leans down, smacking your breast with his palm. In utter humiliation, you feel as if your legs can’t move. Perhaps its the paralyzing fear filling your bones that you might also end up like Dagny and Doctor Svensen whom are now in the closet. He shoves you by your elbow towards Rollo. He thrusts you in his direction while taking fresh guard uniforms Rollo brought in with him.

“Scream and I’ll kill you.” Rollo whispers in your ear, tucking a piece of hair away from your neck. The prisoners emerge in new uniform, handcuff your arms behind your back and make their way out of the hospital wing and out of the nearest exit. If only you had a voice to scream, you would have. The second you hit fresh air, your knees give out in protest. Beyond the three gates– a black convertible sits curbside. You don’t want to go, you don’t want to go, you don’t want to go.

“Let me go!” You whine, looking from one of the guard towers to the other. The guards inside look out toward the courtyard where the normal prisoners argue. It’s blaringly clear that they are on a time limit– one that you could very easily fuck up.

“Pick her up!” Harald orders under your sharp wail. Rollo shoves his meaty fingers into your mouth, snuffing out your scream while running through one of the many gates leading out into the alternative gate. Despite your teeth grinding down on his fat digits, they breach the final gate with your ID. Hvitserk rips open the door to the dark car. They hunker down into the car, Rollo shoving you a little harder than necessary inside. Hvitserk slides in behind you, yanking the back of your scrub top to yank you onto his lap. Rollo slides into the front seat by the driver.

“Took long enough.” The older man says kicking the car into reverse, breaking from a line of parallel parked cars. The top of his head cropped short, not at all matching a wily salt and pepper beard on his chin.

“Sorry Dad.”


	2. Your New Beginning

The bite must have hurt.

On the after thought of the escape, Rollo tends to wiping his wet fingers over his chest and jerks off his button-up shirt from his chest, flinging it on the floorboard of Ragnar’s car. As his father pulls off, you realize that around the main entrance there an influx of police filter in. None of them realize that such a threat has escaped, nor that medical staff lay in the medical wing deceased.

“Your plaything is a cobra.” Harald says, victim to an onslaught of your sneakers shoving against him his torso while he changes into a t-shirt. Hvitserk too changes quickly, unable to help the disgust that runs through his skin from wearing a uniform of a what might as well have been a dirty fucking cop.

“You’re telling me.” Rollo responds from the front seat.

Hvitserk laughs, “Yeah but she smells amazing and I need a fucking hole that don’t feel like STD Russian Roulette. You got my lollipops, uncle?”

Rollo tosses a bag of brilliant red lollipops over his shoulder, landing in your lap. “Let’s hurry up and change out the license plates.” He reaches around you to grab his lollipop, unraveling it from its wrapping and popping it into his mouth with a long, pleased groan.

You shift uncomfortably on top of him– unsure which to wiggle close to. Did you wiggle closer to the insane Ragnarsson you briefly knew or this strange, older man with tattoos reflecting a lifelong world of crime on his face? Either he was an idiot– or he just didn’t care who knew who he was.

So instead you make the mistake of scooting back over Hvitserk’s lap where he kept you. He can’t help his long, jagged moan behind his lollipop, loosening the tie in your hair and turning his nose in your silky hair.

“You already trying to scent me?” He laughs. “Fuck you smell good as fuck.” Hvitserk’s hand slides from the lollipops in your lap to the stringy bow ties of your pants, tugging them loose. Rollo hands Harald something in a warm cup. At first you think, booze. Not the case. The car is filled with a nutty smell of coffee beans.

“I’m no, I’m not!” You all but shout as his large, slender fingers slide over your dry folds. He’d have to try a hell of a lot more than that to make you bend!

“We got shit to do, Hvit.” Harald rumbles beside him.

“Not for a good ten minutes.” Hvitserk shrugs, making nothing out of the fact that he’s petting you right in front of the other men. Harald seems more concerned with nursing his headache and coffee– but you know those blue eyes linger upon you as much as Rollo’s were. Even this strange ‘Dad’ snuck a look in the mirror above at least once.

“Let’s see that pretty pussy.” Hvitserk ignores your complaints, looking to Harald for assistance. He provides Hvitserk with a knife– and the older man looks to you to stop wiggling with a hard raise of his forehead. Bunches of wrinkles strain his forehead. The hard side of this new knife prods the crotch of your scrubs causes you to jump, outright sobbing this time.

“Please don’t…” You sob inhale a breath, full of the thick odor of three potent Alphas. Fear soars up your veins, sending shockwaves of hard palpitations when Hvitserk affectionately sliced through the fabric. He chuckles, soft and conceited.

“Keep still.” His voice deepens, ordering you to do as he willed. The knife slits a long line from ass all the way up to the waistband, stopping a inch or two short. Perfect, he thinks. He flicks the blade to the side, smoothing over your pussy that slowly– but oh, oh so surely, becomes wet for him. In a test, he dug his digits in between your slick.

“Please don’t…! “ You sob, losing yourself when his digits come back out connected by a long string of thick lubricant. He slips the fingers into your mouth to shut you up, flicking you in the cheek when you bite down on his fingertips. In place of his wiggle fingers, you feel the hard stickiness of something all too man made.

“Knock it off.” His father says from the front seat, glancing over his shoulder to his son. His knuckles twist the candy he was once eating with a spin, glancing up with trifling green eyes to him.

“Leave it to you to not let me play.” He pouts, spinning the lollipop once, then twice before pulling it out again. You flinch when he brings the soiled candy back up to his lips, knocking the candy around his full cheeks contently. “We almost at the stop?”

“We’re here.” He throws the car into park. Hvitserk shoves you off of his lap towards Harald– who looks down upon you with a small, smug smile. The doors to the car open and thrash closed once again. Two of the men have left. Did you make the wrong choice? You fear asking anyone anything, flailing to sit back up on your ass. There was a good reason for your fears too…

“Do I… get to go home?” You ask. At the wheel, the man has his short and thick fingers at his lip. He glances to the rearview mirror where Hvitserk is, flicking his stick in another direction as he replaces the plates on the car with the help of Rollo.

“You’re an omega.” Harald says beside you. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

It couldn’t have been worse. You bury your hands into your face with an outright sob when Hvitserk comes back into the car, it’s with his lit cigarette and a cheesy smile, flicking the plates onto the ground.

“Hey.” He takes another long drag of the cigarette, nudging you. When you don’t respond, he pokes you with the hot end of his cigarette. The sear is immediate, raising the hairs of your arm that haven’t been singed by your new, raw wound. Ragnar starts the car for their new hide away.

“Sup, princess?”

Oh god, help you.

* * *

You should have been looking out the window.

In the stress of your seizure, you had lost it. No longer were you awake looking at the many trees whizzing by. Not until the blackness you were shaken out of your empty, black dreams.

“We’re here.” The voice, deep ease you awake. It took a few moments to snap awake– and when you did, it was by the crack and squeak of old wood under feet. The Ragnarsson Hvitserk had you yet still in his tattooed arms. Moments later, he creeps into another room. You know that the entire house was peculiar. It’s aged walls peel with a dull yellowing wallpaper, sure. There is also thin, dusty curtains that would scarcely hide any sun.

“You smell better by the minute.” Hvitserk turns the corner, kicking open a cramped bathroom. It elongates just so to fit a bath, a toilet and sink all in the room. It could have been nauseatingly small all on its own. Hvitserk sets you down on the edge of the bath, grabbing a plastic pack from underneath the sink.

They must have owned this house.

“But, there’s some modifications I could live with.” Hvitserk shrugs, turning one green eye to you. He flicks his fingers at you to get into the bath. It’s… stained. You fear with more than just day to day grime. He stops what he’s doing to throw you an almost irritated look.

“Think I’m gonna shoot you? You have a pussy, don’t worry.” Hvitserk laughs. “You’re safe.”

That was consoling. Still you do as he pleases and strip off the grimey– ruined scrubs, setting them just outside of the bath with your bra and panties. It was almost neat. Hvitserk swipes them up, tossing the into a large trash bag.

“Trust me, where you’re going, you won’t need them.” He says.

“Where I’m going?” You respond with thick concern. Hvitserk sits upon the toilet, flicking the handle of the bath. Scalding hot water fills the bath causing you to flinch back, folding your feet against your breasts to hide your body fro him. He tilts his head, gazing to your folds that are unprotected from his gluttonous eyes.

“Yeeaaah, shouldn’t’ve worn tight clothes to work. Why would you do that working with a bunch of alphas?”

Now this was your fault? You huff heatedly.

“C’mon, tell me. You like the attention, don’t you?”

You admit to nothing– even if you did! It wasn’t for the attention of a bunch of pussy starved inmates. It was for the hope of what all the other women wanted. Male or female or somewhere in between, most to everyone wanted a special somebody.

“But don’t worry.” He laughs, flicking out a razor to hand to you. “We’ll take care of you. Now shave it pretty for me.”

It’s all cryptid. Hvitserk then turns to an carribean blue ice chest sitting upon the floor. He plucks it up by the grey strap, pulling out a glass vial. Your stomach clenches hard upon an empty stomach, feeling the anxiety bubbling with every sweep of your blade over your smooth skin. Hvitserk pops the cap off, plunging it into the white permeable membrane of the vile.

“What is that?” You shudder, shaking now.

“A suppressant, if you can call it that. Has a poison to destroy those stupid receptors you omegas got. Arm.” Hvitserk sweeps his eyes over you, drawing on the orange plunger to pull the strangely clear liquid out. You’ve heard of those very suppressants– a pricey drug not cleared by the Omega Drug Association.

“No.” You wiggle through the hot, burning water to keep your distance. If he came close, you could always use the razor! A deep sigh bounces off his lips, flipping up his t-shirt to pull out the handgun that was tucked in the rim of his joggers. He turns the gun on you next, crouching down beside you.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You drop what you were doing enough to give him your arm. He smiles, winding the black tie he uses for his hair around your upper arm. He eases the needle in without falter and so you know he’s definitely experienced in such things.

“See babe.” Hvitserk laughs, pulling out the plug to the water before drawing another bath. “It’s not so bad if you just listen, right?”

Your heart was telling you that you knew far better than that.

* * *

The light streaming in from dust littered, sheer buttercup curtains should have woken you up that morning. After an arrival like that you should have been knocked out upon the thin, craggy stained mattress pad. Instead you sprawl over the stained covering with a bursting heat within your tingling inner walls of your pulsing cunt. Yet you couldn’t touch it, tied like a dog and told to sleep it off. The drugs coursing through your system were filtering out. You curse yourself at that very moment for not taking suppressants. Despite the pulse of your cunt, you know what will happen.

He should scare you.

They all should scare you.

Yet the demon that brewed in these alphas were unlike the ones in normal alpha males. They were disposed to be what they were: greedy, lusty, gluttonous. Oh, a great many things. The difference between these convicts and normal men was the ability to keep the demon inside of them at bay. In days of your heat, you were just the same; spilling needy little cries of an omega through the house until the alphas were at war among one another.

“She can’t go on like this.”

The alphas had been awake for a great few hours. His chest stung as he flexed, bloody with pink at the edge of the black wings of Hvitserk’s tattoo. Hvitserk had been in a fight with Rollo as the hours raged on. They sat arranging their flight out of Denmark into sweet, innocent little Sweden. Or at least, that was the original intention before your scent trickled down to where the other alphas were bickering that Hvitserk wasn’t tending to you carefully enough.

“She’ll be fine, uncle.” Hvitserk chides, thrusting his towel over his shoulder and lazily walking over to drop a plate in front of his father. Ragnar’s trademark braid was done away with in favour of a short crop on the top of his head.

“You have… intention to breed her?” Ragnar twiddles a bit of floppy, chewy bacon. Hvitserk listens to your soft sobs above– slipping into the ragged, natural desires of the flesh.

“Of course I do. She’s an omega! When her heat soars, she will be screaming for release.” Hvitserk says. “Then you can take her for your ring.”

That was no sort of life and all four of them damn well knew it. The highest bidder would lay down their coin for a night with the most delicious of dolls. Each slamming their fat palms down on their red buttons, thrusting up cards to dib coin upon their fixations. The winner walked away with the toy. Then the same would happen… night after night until Ragnar thought them fit to be given to Rollo. From Rollo– there was no coming back.

“But she’s educated.” Harald says gruffly. “Can’t we use her for better means?”

Ah Harald, always making half-baked plans. Hvitserk turns to set his plate of crunchy bacon and medium done eggs before him.

“No.” Hvitserk snears. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’ve been around Ivar for too long.”

“I was stationed with him.”

Ragnar’s hand hovers lazily by his lips. His blue eyes flicker down to his plate, then back up again to look at the stairs just behind the meager two floor home. They had to airlift out of this hellhole as soon as your heat settled. Ragnar slips out of his chair as son and uncle bicker tirelessly together. Before either notice, up Ragnar goes up the stairs.

Each step brings him closer to the princess’s den so to speak. He can already tell that your soft mewls of desperation are stringing out longer and longer. Ragnar knocks the door open with a rippling creek that swells down the steps. It creaks apart. The yellow wallpaper on the walls matches the drab brown wood coming half way up the wall, dull. Your eyes lock onto him through the wildness of your hair. A thin rim of colour surrounds the deep black of your eyes.

Ragnar does not find this something new or unique. He’s seen that very eye in a willowy, alpha female– his wife, before she attacked and bred him for his seed once upon a time. Ragnars’ lips twitch and so he moves closer.

“(Y/N), that is your name?”

“Fuh… fuck you.” Comes the hiss. Ragnar closes his eyes, motioning his head downwards tiredly. He’s surely heard this one before and yet he carries on, moving closer. Like an animal she sits there, rubbing her legs together and massaging herself through heated frustration.

“You’ll have the chance.” Ragnar hums, reaching forward to moved your hair from the messy manner it was displayed. He could feel your heat burning through his skin, attempting to get under his own, to implore him to breed.

“What do you… mean?” You make out between deep, harsh breaths. Your thighs press tightly together. Despite the heat between your legs, you can rub them together for some friction. But it’s not enough… it’s never enough. Ragnar’s eyes course over your freshly shaved mound up to your breasts before relenting his gaze.

Then he makes a face of indecipherable emotion. It’s short lived– because shortly after, Hvitserk resurfaces through the door. Ragnar slides back up and within a brief few steps, disappeared back from the way he came. The scents mingling overpower any humanistic qualities you may have had previously.

“Guess omegas are kinda indiscriminate, right?” Hvitserk muses, rolling you onto your back. His touch sends a shock wave of tingles through your walls. Damn your body. Damn whatever he gave you too. Hvitserk senses the hitch in your breath and it brings a stupid smile to his lips, palming your breasts while you squirm. “As long as it can pop a knot, right?”

No, you want to say, it wasn’t write. Yet as your walls moisten and your cunt burns with a hot, eager need you know that he is right. In this state you would give it up for anything– convict, or no convict.

“You ask stupid questions.” You huff out, moaning outright when he pinches both nipples between his fingers. Instead of the fear he was so damn sure you would exhibit, you writhe under his fingertips.

“You like it?” His tone shames. He twists again– and pleasantly your legs kick out, betraying your mind screaming everything that Dagny committed to your knowledge. Hvitserk Ragnarsson was a murderer. A breeder. The last alpha male that crossed him had shown up to your clinic with great tears to his jaw up to his cheekbones. Fibrous strands of connective tissue attempted to string his cheek and jaw back together, a testament to the quick wound healing of an alpha.

“Of course you like it. I bet you’re into all types of kinky things, aren’t you? Don’t you got someone special at home?” Hvitserk rustles within his own pants, drawing his cock out into the cold air. Your curious eyes can’t help but sneak a glance. He’s of what you think might a comfortable size. Or at least it would have been if not for those barbells along his shaft.

“Just shut up.” You answer between painful huffs; even if you did, it wasn’t like you would tell an insane alpha male that. Men like him were regularly euthanized. Who would tell him anything? Your eyes keep attended to his cock in his small strokes along the shaft. It only serves to build his huge ego– and it’s nothing that you would admit to freely. Hvitserk slips onto the soiled mattress before you, taking your hand in his gloved one to force you to look at him.

“No? Then let me guess.” Hvitserk chuckles, fisting the root of his cock to lead the tip to your unprotected pussy. He shoves himself forward unceremoniously, forcing you to roll from your side onto your back.

“You’re one of those li’l sluts that binges xvideo porn all day and daydreams all about a certain little someone, right?” He chides, pinning your shoulders down. A long groan escapes his lips, hissing. “Fuck, no one been in this pussy for a while.”

Oh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him!

“Those are the kinda pussy princesses I love, ya know?” He slurs, moving his hands down your back to your waist. He pins you there, enjoying the bounce of your ass against his hips with every bouncing thrust. The balls of his piercings pop into your hole, gliding in cool. They’re quickly warmed by your juices coating down his cock.

“The ones that just can’t get enough. Just like me.”

“I’m not like you!” You hiss and despite his dick just smoothing over the right bundle of nerves, you fight him tooth and nail through the long, bruising thrusts that relieve your swollen need. He’s so thick– and when he fills you, it’s as if you could never be more full.

“Aw that’s cute pretty baby.” He leans in above you, placing his palms down flatly against your head. You glare at the black lines on his right forearm, wanting nothing to do with him. But in the end of it all, you knew he was right. “But it ain’t true. Omegas are meant to be bred like this. This is what you were always meant to do.”

His balls slap against your ass– hard, then harder when your hips defy you. You lean into his thrusts, taking them like only an omega could. Hvitserk’s lips churn into a wide, bright smile. The more he warmed you in your heat, the more attention you craved. And Hvitserk– was far too gladdened to give you everything you craved. As a true alpha, It wouldn’t be complete if you weren’t gasping for it first. And so you were, oozing your excitement over his dick before he even came! Hvitserk gives you a long, deep stroke of his cock to fill you properly. Your vaginal walls respond by squeezing him perfectly, milking him while he strains to hold himself out above your with a few forced pants.

“Nnn- nooo.” You sob, this wasn’t it– this wasn’t… wasn’t you. And yet all the same, yesss.

* * *

At the end of your week long heat, your legs were wiggly like the jello and thin, light foods that Hvitserk had been feeding you so often. Never again did you want to see breads, brothy soups and crackers that made it so easy for Hvitserk to breed you and breed you all week. You felt the heat subsiding little by little through your cunt until finally, it was little more than daily annoyance of breeding and sex.

Hvitserk woke up before you that day, preparing everything that had previously been used in the house for the fireplace. Your wrists were bound when he finally came back to gather you onto two feet with a short, white flowing dress.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask– stupidly so.

Hvitserk keeps his head level, hair smoothed out into a neat bun on the top of his head. He takes a drag of his cigarette, losing the smoke in your face yet again. You were getting used to his asinine actions over the week that you knew this Ragnarsson.

“You’re flying back with Dad.” He answers.

“Back… home?”

Hvitserk stops around the area where a jeweled pair of flip flops are. Whoever picked these pretty things– it definitely wasn’t any of the four idiots you came to know over the week. Though Rollo did have a soft spot for prettty things, so maybe it could be him.

“You’re not going home.” Hvitserk explains. Ragnar comes to stop beside him, and so suddenly, the dread pits in your stomach. “You’re going to his breeding rings.”

Breeding rings?

“You’re not serious.” You state the question as a blank statement. Ragnar grasps your upper arms, tugging you away from the only man that you knew up to this point to stand closely against his toned chest. The young man stuffs his hands into his pocket.

He’s deadly serious.

“You can’t do this to me!” Your voice cracks at the end of the statement, beginning to panic as to what exactly a breeding ring might be. It was a running joke that Omegas were only good for breeding rings but like any things, you never gave it any credence until now. Almost like a lead weight you drop in Ragnar’s grip, refusing to go anywhere. Much less tot the sight where you would be airlifted in a separate direction with the Sigurdssons Ragnar and Rollo.

“No, no I’m not going!”

Instead of giving your fit any weight, uncle Rollo coes to the other side of you. He lifts you up onto two feet. Hvitserk lifts his hand and like magic, Rollo pauses.

“C’mon princess. Don’t make this painful. I like you, but I don’t like you like you. Besides, you’ll be nice and cared for by my brother Ubbe. Don’t that sound nice?”

It didn’t sound nice, it didn’t sound nice at all!

“It sounds awful!” You shrill out, jerking in the two brothers’ arms. At long last, Hvitserk digs his hands into his pocket. You shrill all the way to your next mode of transport until Hvitserk is nothing but a small speck. He shakes his head, rejoining Harald, still in his thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.” He chuckles. “When you can’t get enough.”


End file.
